


Alone Time

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Jemma Simmons Has No Chill, POV Jemma Simmons, Smut, Wall Make-Outs, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 06:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: Jemma has very specific needs for this Alone Time that Fitz mentions. So when her opportunity comes -- she bloody well takes it.Includes brief references to 5x07 but no spoilers from the 5x08 preview, that I know of.Fake smut inspired by real-life musings.





	Alone Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raptorlindsay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raptorlindsay/gifts), [dilkirani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilkirani/gifts).



> Ideas and motivation and support from raptorlindsay and dilkirani, my fellow trash queens

“I’m just happy for some alone time.”

Jemma couldn’t agree more. It’s been on her mind since she first saw Fitz at the Lighthouse, since she first turned and saw him next to Kasius. She would’ve ravaged him right there, primarily from pure relief to see him alive and in their timeline, but also because after weeks of floating amongst these high-society murders and suppressing everything about herself, Fitz’s presence brought a nearly overwhelming rush of sensation and emotion. It wasn’t even self-preservation that kept her from grabbing his dirtied red bandana and snogging him. Revealing her connection to him would endanger Daisy, their allies amongst the other prisoners, and their teammates, who were God knows where at this point.

Sitting beside him now, watching his profile as he watched the others, reveling in the dark blonde scruff and the flex of his forearms as he gripped the plane’s seatbelts, Jemma’s honestly amazed at their restraint. They haven’t shared a properly intimate moment since well before the Framework, and to suddenly be together, to be whole and relatively happy and _engaged_ , certainly they deserve that alone time.

His caring little touches as they sought safety with Daisy didn’t alleviate her desire. Poor Fitz was only trying to be caring and gentle and yet every brush of his fingertips down her jaw, against her arm, on her hip sent out little eddies of heat across skin so long unworshiped.

Besides, she’d seen his jump from the balcony, his improbably perfect shot that allowed them to escape. If nothing else, the man deserves a proper commendation for such an effective and alarmingly sexy real-world application of physics.

The hand resting on his thigh tightens, and Fitz glances at her, searching her face, but she shakes her head. Now’s not the time.

But Jemma grows increasingly frustrated as the _time_ continues to evade them. First there was all that running away, now their plane crashes, they have to find each other where they’ve been thrown from the wreckage, Deke sustains a wound that’s a bit touch-and-go for a few minutes, they find May and are on the run again, and when they finally reach shelter, it comes in the form of a very small, very unromantic surface base. Unless Fitz has suddenly acquired a taste for semi-public indecency, she’ll not have luck here.

She’s a professional, of course, so she manages to focus on Coulson’s orders and keep it in her pants right up to the moment when Fitz crosses the room to her, standing close enough that their foreheads nearly touch.

“I’m gonna go find somewhere to wash this off,” he explains softly, showing her his hands, which are still covered with blood from her implant extraction and his assistance with Deke’s quick patch-up. “I just – I know I said I’m never leaving you again, and I meant it, but – practically, there’ll be times when, you know, have to. So.”

He kisses her brow, a familiar habit, one that might’ve started before they’d become romantic.

He’s been out of the room maybe thirty seconds before she realizes this is her opportunity. Daisy and Deke are squabbling again, Mack and May are trying to interpret the alien tech by the door to see how best to keep out the Kree, and Elena and Coulson are unpacking equipment from decrepit boxes in the corner. No one will notice she’s gone, at least for a few minutes.

Jemma slips quietly out into the corridor.

The bathroom isn’t difficult to find: it’s one of only two rooms extending off the corridor, and she can hear Fitz humming the _Doctor Who_ theme song over the running tap. She has a second after she opens the door before he looks up; his head bent over the tap, the muscles in his neck accentuated; he’s hung his leather jacket over one of the toilet stalls so she can see the stretch of his shirt across his back.

He looks up as the door hits the wall and ricochets, clicking shut again. “I’ll just be a minute. No soap, of course,” he chuckles, showing her his hands. Then, catching the slightly hooded grin she’s fixed on him, he twists the tap off. “Jemma?”

Too long without hearing him say her name; much too long without his touch on parts of her that she shares only with him.

With a groan she throws herself across the small room at him, trapping him against the sink as she holds his shirt collar in both hands and kisses him, plowing past the soft opening kisses and diving straight into hot, open-mouthed, messy, desperate.

“Jemma, what—” Fitz manages, even as he’s trying to match her lips, even as his hands are already beneath her jacket, clinging to her waist.

“I need you,” she pants, running both of her hands over his head, slipping her kisses to the junction of jaw and ear, trailing a fingertip down the few inches of skin exposed above his top button.

“But – now? The team—”

“What happened to alone time?” she demands. His chest is already heaving and she revels in it, the sheer vibrancy of him against her. Never one for subtlety, and _especially_ not now, she slides one hand down his chest and over his belt, cupping his rapidly hardening erection.

Fitz grunts, but he can’t help the way he stumbles forward against her, his body seeking her touch. “I meant—” With a frustrated groan he grabs her face with both hands and kisses her properly, like he’d done back in the fighting chambers. When they part he licks her upper lip, catching a drip of sweat that had been accumulating there. “I honestly meant just _time_ to be _alone_ , together. I wasn’t even thinking – I wouldn’t have dreamt – I’ve missed more than just your body, you know—”

“Do you want to stop?” Jemma challenges, dragging her hand down his cock to fondle his balls through his trousers.

“Not even if the Kree rained hellfire down upon us right now,” Fitz growls.

He’s got her jacket halfway off before she remembers. “The door! I didn’t lock the door!”

They stagger backwards together until her back hits the door, her head only saved from the collision because she’s so wrapped up in Fitz. He doesn’t stop kissing her for a second, fumbling unseeingly for the latch. They both groan when they hear it click into place and Fitz triumphantly presses her fully against the wood, rolling against her from pelvis to lips.

“Now this,” he whispers, looking down at their still-clothed bodies pressed together, sliding his gaze up her chest, finding her eyes with a smolder that makes Jemma whimper with want, “is the welcome I was hoping for.”

The next second he’s hoisted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and while Jemma would normally complain about being manhandled or stop to marvel at his newfound strength (apparently he actually _had_ done push-ups), the new angle lets her dominate the kisses and grind against his belt buckle simultaneously.

“Well done Fitzy,” she murmurs, grinning, nipping at his bottom lip.

Their tongues meet, twining in a hot, slick approximation of what Jemma is craving. She whines against his mouth, feeling his hands tighten where they’re supporting her arse.

“I need you,” she gasps again, pushing against his shoulders so she can properly see him, willing to put off her pleasure a few seconds longer if it meant she could watch his blue eyes darken as she slowly rolls her hips against his. “I need you now, Fitz.”

“Then get out of those damn clothes!” Fitz urges, letting her drop to her feet and scrambling to get his own belt undone. “Trousers only, Jemma, _honestly_ , there’s no time!”

“Sorry!” Jemma snaps, abandoning her half-unbuttoned top. “Thought you’d enjoy the view!”

“Course I would,” Fitz sighs, and he grabs her for an apologetic kiss. “Just – we’ve got a lifetime for that.”

“Yeah, we do, don’t we?” Jemma beams, shimmying her trousers and pants down.

“But for now—” His own clothes down about his ankles, Fitz picks Jemma up again, guides her legs around his, smooths one hand on the underside of her thigh to draw goosebumps and a ragged inhale.

“F-Fitz,” Jemma stutters, reaching for his cock, needing to feel him _now_ , but Fitz lifts her up by the armpits and moves her up a few inches, then presses in so she’s trapped against the door just by his body, the tip of his cock just brushing her wet folds. Her struggling arms he pins above her head.

“Ah ah ah,” he chides, and Jemma’s tempted to knee him in the ribs for his teasing smirk. He lets her sip just a fraction of the way down, the head not even parting her lips. “Are you sure you’re prepared for this? I’ve got seventy four years of abstinence behind me, I’m not sure you can handle it.”

His unexpected confidence makes her pussy pulse in response, but Jemma knows his bluff. “Leopold Fitz,” she whispers, leaning forward as far as she can in his hold until she’s breathing heatedly against his cheeks, “you’ve read the same studies about female masturbation as I have. Even if we _do_ get married, I’m prepared to hold you to _another_ seventy four years of abstinence if you don’t shut up and—”

In a move that is unfairly smooth, Fitz drags her down onto his cock in one slick drive and finds her mouth again, loosing his grip on her wrists so he can support her ass and cradle her cheek. Jemma moans, unashamed, beyond caring if the rest of the team can hear them. She clenches around him, wanting him to feel what she feels, wanting to make him feel as good.

“I’ve missed fucking you,” she pants as he starts to move, lifting her up and down frenetically, working her against his length, occasionally ramming in all the way so their pelvises meet again. She’s happy, for once, to let him do all the work, can tell he’s enjoying the small sense of power, doesn’t want him to move the fingers that are pressing into the flesh of her arse.

Fitz chuckles against her jaw, shifting one of her legs to adjust his angle. “Is that all you’ve missed?”

She knows she won’t be able to tease him much longer, can already feel the spooling tension that wants to explode through all of her limbs. On the deep thrusts her clit finds friction and her thoughts scatter away. Still, she shrugs. “I suppose sometimes you’re useful. Saving the day and all that.”

“You’ve gotten cheeky,” he mumbles, likewise distracted, but he kneads her flesh for emphasis.

“Then shut me up.”

He meets her mouth halfway, and from there his measured thrusts devolve. Jemma controls the kisses to let him try to focus on the movement of their hips, but he’s rutting against her as her hips start to make twitchy little circles.

He comes before she’s ready, shuddering into her, biting her shoulder to keep himself from crying out. Jemma rubs a hand over his sweaty back as he comes down from his orgasm, but her legs are shaky, her head is foggy, her clit is still throbbing.

“You didn’t—” Fitz stumbles back a step, his spent cock falling from her aching cunt.

“It’s okay, we’ll just—” Jemma reaches down to finish herself off, but Fitz catches her wrist.

“No soap, remember?”

Jemma feels like she’s about to cry. She’s so wound up, she so needs this release, she’s been craving this release with _Fitz_ —“Please, I need—”

“Tell me,” Fitz pleads, kissing her forehead, her nose, her cheeks.

“I _need_ —”

Fitz is on his knees before she can finish the thought. His first lick passes from the back of her pussy, catching her leaking wetness and his own dripping cum, and up to her clit. Jemma gasps, head falling backwards against the door as he mouths at her.

“Fuck, yes, there, Fitz, _there_ , don’t stop—”

He laps at her clit, short little bursts of attention to work it back up to where it’d been a few seconds before. In some part of her rational brain Jemma is afraid of suffocating him, is afraid she’s gripping his hair too tight or grinding herself down against his mouth too hard, but at this point he’s supporting most of her weight on his shoulders and he doesn’t seem bothered.

He pulls away, his lips glistening, but Jemma doesn’t have a chance to scold him because he murmurs, “It’s your turn to cum now, Jemma. Let go.” And he returns to her clit, sucking on the nub, the sensation nearly lifting Jemma off her toes.

With a single desperate keen she crashes into the long-awaited orgasm, everything going fuzzy for a second. Fitz gives her cunt a last end-to-end lap before he guides her down to his level, holding her as she trembles back into reality.

“I really, _really_ missed fucking you,” she sighs.

He just shakes his head, amused, and undoes his bandana, handing it to her. She struggles to standing and eases over to the sink, where she runs the bandana under the water for a second before using it to wipe between her legs. They put their trousers on in silence.

“Thanks, Fitz,” she murmurs, gesturing with the bandana. “For this, and – for _that_.”

He sidles over to her, savoring the last seconds of alone time before they go back out to face the improbable, inescapable snare of space and time. He wraps his arms around her lower back and she leans into the touch. “Can’t say no to my fiancée.”

“Is that the rule?” Jemma asks brightly, and Fitz groans, rolling his head back. “I could get used to that.”

“Like I could ever say no to you before,” he chuckles fondly.

“Fair.” She toys with the zipper on his jacket, which he’s donned again. “But I always find ways to compensate you for your trouble.”

From the expression on his face he’s thinking about quipping back, but Jemma’s gaze falls on her ring finger and Fitz’s smile softens. “It’s no trouble,” he whispers, tugging her in so he can snug her properly against him, the best they can do for cuddling in their current circumstances. “Not when it’s for you.”

They both look so starry-eyed, exchanging teary, blushing looks over tangled fingers as they rejoin the rest of the team, that no one asks where they’ve been, what those sounds were, or where Fitz’s bandana has gone.

 


End file.
